Author's note:
Based on Jim Henson's Labyrinth.
Excerpts of my story were originally posted on the LJ community "Labyfic" on Jan 19, 2015.
Content warning:
Although the majority of this work is suitable for Teen and up, this is not a fluffy romance story. This work contains scenes of dubious sexual consent, non-consensual sex, violence, and horror elements.
Prologue
The playwright perched on a stool, bent laboriously over the manuscript. Dipping his quill in the ink pot, he carefully wrote the final lines of the play, and set the feathered pen down with a smile.
Once the ink was dry, he would stitch the pages into the leather-bound book, and loose it into the world. And then – he would wait.
It never took long for mortals to find his books, foolish creatures who wanted to believe, and would say the words. It was a story he never tired of telling, perfected over centuries of re-writes. Polished and trimmed until only the bare bones remained, sharp hooks in a simple tale baited to lure the dreamers and wishers who lived above.
He leaned back, stretching. With a nimbleness at odds with the long hours spent hunched over a table, he sprang to his feet and strode to the window to survey his domain. Without thinking he retrieved a faded length of ribbon from his pocket, and worried the frayed material out of long habit. Age and use had destroyed its colour, it might have been white, or silver. His sharp gaze studied the ever-shifting walls of his kingdom, and his thoughts turned back to the book.
Guilt-driven, those who survived an encounter with the Labyrinth would try to atone for their selfishness by tracking down every copy of the book they could find. They wanted to destroy it, hoping penance could be achieved by saving another family from suffering the same fate.
Therein lay his trap.
Self-flagellation spurred them into old bookshops, and hushed conversations with book dealers, and over the years the red book acquired a quiet infamy. Any serious book collector had fended off inquiries about it. Sometimes it seemed the book had disappeared entirely, only to surface in an estate auction where it would spark a bidding frenzy, or found locked away in an attic, a treasured heirloom waiting to be passed down.
It was truly tragic how often a family who lost one child would continue to lose others throughout the generations.
Such a pity.
Chapter 1 - The Prelude
The sky was the colour of old metal, and the air was sharp with the promise of snow. Ice glittered on the bare branches that scraped against the side of the house. From the comfort of her kitchen, Irene Williams sipped her coffee as she watched the barn owl perched in the old poplar tree.
The bird had a habit of haunting their garden, and was often spotted gliding slowly and silently during the twilight hours, ghosting past the house to settle in the trees, where he would remain for hours, still as a statue. Irene assumed it was a male due to his handsome plumage; when he spread his wings, the coverts and mantle feathers were bronze and silver-gilt. Dazzling, and... slightly gaudy. All she could glimpse at the moment though was a heart-shaped mask of ivory feathers.
She smiled, remembering the day they moved into the house. A new start for their new family, Robert had said. Sarah was complaining, as was her custom, and then suddenly Sarah was shrieking as a white blur appeared out of nowhere to snatch the ribbon from her hair. Robert dropped the box of china, Sarah dropped Toby, and Irene grabbed the broom. The bird soared into the air, red ribbon dangling like viscera. The baby had bounced on the grass and let out a wail to shatter glass, and great-aunt Mildred's dishes were never the same. The bird returned the next day, but never dive-bombed them again. Their relationship with the owl became one of wary respect.
Irene looked down at the stack of old photographs spread across the table. There was a picture of Toby and Sarah at the lake, each hoisting their end of the massive fish they had caught. Toby was about six, so Sarah was doing most of the hoisting, and they both looked so happy. In the next one, Irene was pretending to be horrified as the children brought the fish close to her.
She smiled as she flipped through the stack. Sarah pulling Toby on a sled. Toby covered in dog fur after he gave poor Merlin a hair cut. Toby with his head resting against Sarah's knee as she read him a story, sitting in the shade of the big oak tree. The four of them on a boat.
Times had certainly changed. If someone had predicted that her willful, spoiled step-daughter would form a bond with Toby, or the rest of her family, Irene would have snorted. She had thought to herself many times that she had rushed into marriage with Robert, and raising Sarah was a thankless task. But Sarah had changed. Inexplicably, and seemingly overnight, Sarah had changed.
But every now and again, Irene wondered if the change was for the better.
The bang of the trunk closing startled Irene out of her reverie. She held the door for Robert as he brought the groceries inside. He set the paper bags on the counter and kissed her, and she started unpacking what he had brought.
"I think animals are getting in through the attic again," she informed him.
"What'd you find?"
"I was putting fresh sheets on Sarah's bed this morning, and I found a feather. Sitting right on her pillow."
"Anything else?"
"No. The window hasn't been opened since she was home last."
"Humph. Maybe Toby left it there," Robert said, head stuck in the fridge as he re-arranged some things. "I'll take a look later just in case."
"Maybe," she replied, and let it drop.
Maybe.
What she hadn't told her husband was the way the feather glowed. It was the most eerie thing. The feather was surrounded by a globe of shining light. Her hands still tingled from picking it up. She had run her fingertip down the edge and the feather sprang right back up. She lifted it closer to examine it, but the glow faded away with an audible hiss, like a candle fizzing out.
The lamps had flickered. A cupboard banged shut somewhere in the house. Spooked, she dropped the feather and exited the room, closing the door behind her. It seemed ridiculous now but, she didn't want Sarah going into that room. It felt... hungry.
It seemed as though Sarah has been gone forever. She stepped through the door and shuddered, and a tension left her as the sights and smells of home flooded her senses.
"Hi!" she called. "I'm home!"
"Hi honey, in the kitchen!" her step-mother called. "Coffee's on."
Sarah unzipped her old leather jacket, frowning at the gouged leather. She tugged her boots off and turned the dead bolt behind her. She side-stepped a book bag and walked into the kitchen, where Irene was setting the table.
"Sarah, you've changed your hair." Irene blinked, and stared closely. "It looks great!"
"I did? Oh yes, I did, thank you," Sarah replied, tucking a lock behind her ear. "Dinner smells great, what is it?"
"Your father's making ribs," Irene replied.
Sarah closed her eyes in bliss. "Ooooh," she murmured. "I haven't had those in forever." She held out a bag towards her step-mother, "I brought wine."
"Thanks honey." Irene smiled. "How's the new job?"
Sarah dropped into a chair and shrugged. "The job is great. The boss, not so much."
"When is the probation period up?" Irene asked.
"End of January. If I last that long," Sarah replied glumly. "She's awful. I thought it was just me at first, but it's not just me. She's like that with everyone."
"Like what, exactly?"
"Moody. Unrealistic expectations. She's got a bee up her – hey Dad!" she called, as her father entered the kitchen.
"Sarah!" he hugged her tight. "Welcome home sweetheart! Toby!" he hollered, "your sister's here!"
From upstairs came a loud thump, and the heavy clump of someone taking the stairs two at a time. He barreled into her. "Sarah!"
"Hey little brother," she smiled. "Happy birthday!"
"Nothing's happening," Sarah snapped testily.
"You're doing it all wrong!" Toby said, and flipped to a new page in the book. "Try this one."
Sarah sighed as she closed her eyes. They had been trying for half an hour. "Give me that."
She thrust her face into the book and stared at the neon green lines. Her eyes began to water. She pulled the book away slowly, staring intently. "Come on, come on..."
"You need to look through it Sarah, not at it," her brother crowed.
"Some people can't see 3D images, honey," her step-mother said. "It's something to do with depth perception."
"I give up." Sarah handed the book back, and stood up. "Well kiddo, I hope you enjoy your present. At least it works for one of us. Give me a hug."
She waved goodbye to her father and Irene, and ruffled Toby's hair affectionately. "Happy birthday Tobe."
"Are you sure you won't be back tomorrow for supper?" Dad asked.
She smiled ruefully. "No can do. I've got a date. See you all next week!" She turned the key in the ignition, and the interior of the tiny hatchback boomed with music. She backed out carefully, mouthing "I can't hear you" to her family's shouted questions, and waved as she drove off.
Sarah eased up on the gas pedal. Maybe it was that second cup of coffee, or squinting into that silly book, but everything on the road seemed to twist tonight. There was a shimmering outline along the edge of the road, the tree trunks, the traffic signs... she rubbed her eyes with one hand. A white spot appeared in her vision. She blinked hard. It was gone.
There was a mild thump. She pumped the brakes and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder. With a sinking feeling, she stepped out of the car. A bird lay in the road.
She approached slowly, horrified at what she had done. It was an owl, it wasn't – but it could be - her owl. Oh no, no.
The bird twitched feebly, but it made no sound. She knelt beside it carefully, extending a hand to cradle its head. It slashed at her with its beak.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you, I didn't mean to!"
Oh, you didn't?
"Please don't die. Gobl – bird? Please don't die."
Blood bubbled up from its beak, and the eyes turned glassy. The bird lay still.
She picked it up gingerly, and brought it over to the trees, laying the small body down on a bed of leaves and grass. Red feathers clung to her hands. She sank to her knees and sobbed.
Up-ending a bottle of lilac bath salts into the steaming water, Sarah winced at the heat as she sank into the bath, forcing herself to stay submerged. She tipped her head back against the rim of the clawfoot tub and closed her eyes.
It wasn't my fault.
Birds shouldn't fly so low. That didn't take away from the awfulness, but it was an accident. She would not have harmed it on purpose. And animals died every day.
Then why does it feel like -
She drew her knees up slightly to sink further into the tub, and her hair floated in the water, undulating against her wrists like seaweed. Her thoughts spiraled further and further away, to the dreams – nope, not gonna think about that – to work – maybe tomorrow – to her upcoming date with Philip – this time he's going to kiss me, if he doesn't, I'll -
"I had fun tonight," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Me too," Philip smiled, his brown eyes warm. "Would you like to have dinner on Friday? I heard good things about the new pub downtown."
She smiled. "I'd love to. Pick me up at seven?"
"Seven thirty okay?"
"Okay."
They were standing close together, close enough she could breathe in his aftershave, they just had to lean in a little bit – but she didn't want to – come to me, come to me – she stayed still, and he smiled, gave her arm a lingering caress, and turned away. She watched him drive off, and exhaled pent-up breath slowly, unsure if the feeling riding her was relief or disappointment – but next time he's going to kiss me, next time –
Next time?
Sarah opened her eyes and her mouth in tandem, sucking in a huge mouthful of water. She couldn't see anything, but something was holding her face underwater, someone was holding her down... she could feel fingers clamped against her jaw, holding her – her lungs were going to burst – it was pressing on her face, her eyes burning from soapy water. Her hands scrabbled desperately at the edge of the tub for purchase, her legs thrashed wildly – and then, it was over. It – whatever it was – was gone.
She leaned over the edge of the tub, retching up bathwater and heaving. She stumbled from the tub and slammed the bathroom door shut, locking it. Pulling a towel tightly round herself, she checked the room carefully, but it was empty. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and quickly yanked up the tub chain. A movement caught her eye.
She looked at the fogged mirror. Water ran down it in trickles, in lines, like fingertips tracing down...
"NO!" she said firmly. "No." She wiped the surface clean, and clutched the towel tightly.
She turned all the lights on, and checked each window and door. What she would give to have Merlin here - get a grip Sarah – just your imagination – there's nobody here.